


some sunny day

by philzaminecraft



Series: oneshots :P [5]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Apocalypse, Blood, Blood and Gore, Drabble, How the Fuck Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, IRL Fic, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Lonely TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), No Covid, Violence, Zombie Apocalypse, didn't read this before publishing, ignore the speling mistakes, in this universe, it's just one sentence near the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-19 04:47:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29869356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philzaminecraft/pseuds/philzaminecraft
Summary: It’s been 365 days.It’s been a year since the apocalypse started, since the zombie apocalypse started.Tommy has no one but himself, Betty and Walter to keep him sane. He knows his friends are dead. (?)
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Series: oneshots :P [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2110485
Comments: 8
Kudos: 212





	some sunny day

**Author's Note:**

> // blood + gore mention, zombies, literally bashing zombies heads in. also tommy goes fucking batshit but its just mentioned, tommy is Crazy lord help him

It’s been 365 days.

  
  


It’s been a year since the apocalypse started, since the _zombie_ apocalypse started. It’s been a year since everything went to shit, since Tommy reached 9 Million subscribers and lost it all in a day's time.

  
  


It was June 2021, he remembers. June 10th, 2021. He woke up around 11am, brushed his teeth, hopped in the shower and went downstairs. He met the worried eyes of his parents, his mom was holding both of her hands together tightly and if you looked at her closely she was shaking. His father was no better, he still had a stern face on his look but it was clear he was worried out of his mind.

  
  
  


Tommy glanced around, taking in the tense atmosphere with a gulp, “What’s up?”

  
  


His mother took a shuddering breath looking back at the tv, “There's been a… virus outbreak,” She said slowly as if trying to comprehend the news as well, “An outbreak that… it’s basically a zombie virus. A parasite.”

  
  


“You’re… kidding right?”

  
  


His dad hopped into the conversation, also taking the same cautious route as his mother did, “I’m afraid we’re not… it’s bad, like really bad.”

  
  


Tommy hummed lowly, eyes immediately dropping down to look at the floor where Walter was pacing around lazily and Betty was taking a nap. He smiled softly at the sight before turning around to face the stairs again, “I’m going to go… keep me updated?”

  
  


He didn’t hear a response but he imagined his parents nodded, as he walked up the steps creaks echoed through the tense household, yet he heard the claws on Walter and Betty following up behind him. When he reached his room, opening the door and letting his lazy dogs in he only had one thing in his mind.

  
  


This might be his last week on earth.

  
  


So with the last willpower he had, he reached over to grab his phone, sat on the floor and texted everyone he loved.

  
  


And with one last tweet being a simple ‘<3’ he began to pack, ignoring the notifications his phone insisted on him to check.

  
  
  
  
  
  


It’s been 365 days, he has a calendar. Everyday he wakes up at sunrise, he knows that everyday the sun rises one minute more or whatever. 

  
  
  


Tommy raided a store a few months back, an art store. It was small and there was nothing but the smell of rotten flesh being baked from the overwhelming heat June could have sometimes. He took a can of red spray paint, maybe it’d come in handy.

  
  


Tommy has been living the best he could, with Betty and Walter at his side always alarming him of any moving presence he’s been able to survive. He hasn’t gotten injured, which is a miracle.

  
  


His weapons were simple yet effective, he had a kitchen knife, a hammer and a switchblade he stole off a rotting corpse. Yeah. Tommy would say he's different now then his past lanky self, (Well he’s still lanky, but at least he has strength in his arms now). After spending a year of seeing the most horrifying gory things, and being the cause of some of these things he’s safe to say, he’s mentally doing horrible.

  
  


He quickly learned how weak the zombies were, the only upside they had is that they were fast. They moved quickly and dodged way to effectively for someone who didn't have a fully functioning brain, though when he grabbed his hammer with both hands, swung back and hit it in the head with a sickening squelch that left blood and bits splattering onto his attire, he’d say they were pretty easy to defeat.

He learned everything he needed to, the top 3 things being,

  
  


\- Don’t ever use a gun.

\- Swing your hammer as hard as you can into a zombie's spine if you need to immobilize it.

\- Betty and Walter were always right.

  
  


He’s pretty sure he went crazy at some point, all he remembers that day is waking up with a bunch of blood and gore on him. He knows it wasn’t his. The smell was horrible, that was the last time he had something remotely close to a shower.

  
  


After that day he changed his apparel, to look more badass, he quotes in his mind. He wore black (homemade) fingerless gloves, random shoes that he started off with and jeans with one of his friends' merch. (Wilburs)

  
  
  


Though, after a few months of roaming around his town aimlessly he decided to go to brighton. He doesn’t know why (Maybe his friends are alive?), but he wanted to. So he quietly called out for Walter and Betty, searched for more food and water, made sure nothing of his small list of belongings was left behind and he set out to walk to Brighton on foot. 

  
  


It took him two days, not as bad as he thought yet his feet protested at every step he took, it surely didn’t help that it was winter, but he was geared up well. With his Wilbur merch on and a stolen black jacket he didn’t suffer the wrath of the cold weather, and he made sure his dogs didn’t either. 

  
  


When he awoke and the sun was barely rising he looked at both of his sides where Betty was snuggled up onto his side for warmth and Walter was at his feet. He knew the dogs didn’t plan on waking up soon, unless the smell of another living or dead person infiltrated their nostrils, then yeah they’d be up and alert.

  
  


When his boredom started to get restless and he couldn’t get another second in of sleep an idea popped into his brain. Finally thinking of the red spray paint he stole oh so many weeks ago he stood up carefully and took it out, rattling the can and quietly as he could he began to spray onto the concrete wall.

  
  


The spray was calming, yet the smell was intoxicating, so he covered his mouth and nose with the black scarf he had in his bag.

  
  


Finally stepping back he looked at his art piece.

  
  


‘INNIT iNc.’

  
  


It was sloppy and messily written and the stench it left behind was unbearable. Even though it was not the best, the grin that spread on his face was one he hasn’t put on in many months, one that was genuine. The red was beautiful, the red was his color. Yeah, he was seventeen and yeah he hasn’t used his voice in so long, but that part of him still existed, the part of him that refused to let go of the past.

  
  


Things would be okay.

  
  
  
  
  


Tommy has changed.

  
  


He doesn’t remember being taken by surprise anymore, his two ‘guard dogs’ were always observant, low growls alerting the eighteen year old of anyones or anything's presence. He’s no longer the lanky boy he once was, the one who would never go outside. He knew how to use a knife know, how to properly end a zombies life(?) in one fatal swoop. How to avoid blood splattering onto his clothes and onto his dogs.

  
  


He looked into a mirror recently, he decided to cut his hair. He ignored the eyebags that hung under his eyes, and the way his skin looked dirty and sickly. The last time he tried to scrub the dirt off was months ago now, he much preferred to use his water to drink.

  
  


He hasn’t seen a single living human person in the flesh in about 10 months. 

  
  


Maybe he’s alone.

  
  


Sometimes, when he’s sitting on the floor leaned up against a wall and petting Betty and Walters fur he thinks. Thinks of his friends, he never got to meet Wilbur and Phil a second time, never got the chance to see Technoblade in person and will never hug Tubbo again.

  
  


Tommy is eighteen and alone, it’s been 365 days and at least he has his dogs.

  
  


“My name is Tommy,” He hesitated at his last name, a quick image of his parents flashing through his mind, “and i’m alive.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  


He was at the Brighton pier arcade.

  
  


…

  
  
  


It’s been raided already, yet no signs of anyone living here . He remembers watching the ‘sunset’ with Wilbur while walking.

  
  


Fate was a funny thing, he lost all belief in it after the virus struck. He didn’t feel anything anymore, he hasn’t shed a tear since this whole thing started. He hasn’t felt pain in so long, looking at the large body of water near him he breathed out. Everything could end now, he could join the rotting corpses.

  
  


The dogs whine.

  
  


The mere thought of doing that dissipates from his mind in an instance.

  
  


Well, time to spray paint this area as well.

  
  


Ever since he first spray painted the funky innit inc onto that concrete wall he hasn’t stopped marking the places he doesn't want to forget. So he grabbed his black duffel bag, it’s worn from years of use (it used to be his gym bag), took out the red spray paint can all the way at the bottom and looked at it for a while. He furrowed his eyebrows, it was almost out, he’d find more later.

  
  


So with the quiet humming of the one song he’ll never forget he scanned the wall which already had dark blue wording on it and shook the can thoroughly, ignoring the already written words on the wall and trusting on his dogs to alert him of a presence.

  
  


His scarf was covering his mouth and nose already and his hand was moving in delicate movements, his writing no longer sloppy

  
  


‘INNIT INC.’

  
  


Hm. He did a lot better this time.

  
  
  


The dogs growled taking a protecting stance around their owner. Tommy reacted immediately fumbling with the spray can and letting it drop to the floor, he had the switchblade in hand and scarf covering part of his face in a second. His dirty blond hair covered a portion of his eye yet his tall and confident stance made him look threatening.

  
  


He swore his eyes deceived him, but there in front of him, Betty and Walter was a group of four.

  
  


Did the fucking spray paint toxins get into his brain? He was seein’ shit wasn’t he?

  
  


He took a sturdy breath in but refused to speak, the only sound resonating through the area being the fierce growls of his dogs.

  
  


Though his dogs were distracted and the sole zombie snuck up behind him, and those bastards didn’t even say anything. So when he heard the uneven footsteps of something behind him he yanked the hammer from the pocket it was hanging on, swung back and immediately swung forward smashing it into the zombies brain.

  
  


The sound of sickening crunch, squelch and splatter reverberated in his brain. He was sure he looked insane now, with the blood splattered all over him he turned back to the group, bloodied hammer still in hand

  
  


Nothing was said.

  
  


Though, the second tallest quickly broke the silence. It was an easily recognizable voice, though it's been a year since he’s heard the voice of the older the memories it was so _distinguished_. 

  
  


“Tommy?”

  
  


And he dropped onto his knees, the full 6’3 boy fell onto the ground. Tears found a way through his eyes, leaking through the corners and sliding down his dirty blood splattered face soaking into the scarf. Betty and Walter were nudging at him but there were no sound of footsteps.

  
  


So he cleared his throat, after a year of refusing to talk. Though the pain was unbearable after not using his vocal cords for so long, he coughed and rasped awkwardly yet they stayed.

  
  


“Technoblade you bastard” He muttered, though it was loud enough for them to hear.

  
  


Footsteps rushed forward, and he was engulfed in warmth.

  
  


He knew he’d make it, he just had to wait some sunny day.

**Author's Note:**

> this is a vent, yeah ik Wtf.
> 
> sorry for not updating the wing fic, been feeling horrible for the past month oops. i feel rlly bad for not updating it, i dont even have the second part written sorry :(
> 
> anyways enjoy.,., this vent oneshot i guess. i think i'll write more of this au when im feeling down, so look forward to that i guess?
> 
> kudos and comments are appreciated !


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